Talentless America

I had began writing this blog with something else in mind.  But as it so unfortunately happens I'm sitting in a room with the TV on and watching America's Got Talent.  Only to think the programme should really be called Talentless America.  It would certainly be a more appropriate title.  A man has just flown a kite indoors, the crowd erupted.  Granted he appears to have some kind of learning difficulty, his mother said it was epilepsy.  But hey America, it's nothing more than a bloody kite.  Which also begs the question, whether it is right or wrong for talent shows to allow contests to with sob stories to perform.  Talent doesn't need any kind of depressive, sad emotion drawing excuse to be talent.  OK, I'll admit there these stories are sad, they do pull on your heart, but if facts are facts it really doesn't matter if someones partner died.  Which led to their inspiration to shoot tiddly winks through a hoop.  First the stories should be killed, let them do their thing and then vote whether it has any meaning.  In the end the truth will come through.  As later episodes go on these talentless persons are voted off.  For now their stories have already been heard and we're all immune to in order to pull votes.  Get over it, you got one leg, so what hop on the other one and give us a tune which actually hits the right notes. 

Rock Chick has just pointed out, the panel of three judges has two British members.  Piers, has a histrionic vent.  I just can't help feeling there are times when he follows the crowd, even when the crowd is clearly wrong.  This is America folks.  Sharon, well maybe she's had too much plastic surgery and its effected the bitchy bent she can have.  I never know what direction she swings, but there is something she does when the act is crap.  Like jumping on some cussing bandwagon.  She would definitely be the lead fish wife in any group of fish wives.  The panel, is missing probably the greatest opinionated British judge of all, Mr Cowel.  How, I am sure Mr Cowell, the man with the false titties and whose girlfriends have a shelf life of six months and his ego always has problems being in the same room as him, so much so he has to make sure the mirrors are covered.  At least his caustic judgement always cuts through any group of spectators and smacks them down like a professional wrestler.  Without him there is no sanity.  It's prime insane stuff. 

Unfortunately I don't have the TV controls.  Next week I'm going to book an appointment for a lobotomy, no I'm not, after enduring this I'll not need one.